


Who's Coming For Dinner Again?

by spatialsoloist



Category: Captain America (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialsoloist/pseuds/spatialsoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock needs to stop inviting guests over unannounced, but John can forgive this instance, because Captain frickin’ America and the Winter Soldier are in his doorway with wine and a box of peeps, and really, who’s going to deny them entrance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Coming For Dinner Again?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Voodooling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodooling/gifts).



> Please accept this attempt at something cute and fluffy I have homework to do but today I felt like writing so happy writing it is!
> 
> Check out Voodooling’s comic that I drew inspiration from: http://voodooling.tumblr.com/post/84574981394/captain-america-x-bbc-sherlock-crossover-where
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read!

“We’re going to have guests,” Sherlock Holmes said early that morning, when John had just stumbled out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed, unshaven, and still slightly groggy without his wake-up coffee.

 

“Guests?” John repeated slowly, licking his dry lips. “Now? Or later? Because if some nutjob screeching about their grandma’s missing ashes is going to bust in in the next ten seconds I want to be wearing actual pants when it happens.”

 

“Surprised you with a case like that _once_ and I’ll never hear the end of it,” Sherlock grumbled, ruffling his messy curls with a suspiciously pouty expression. John snorted and crossed his arms, waiting for the other to continue. Sherlock cleared his throat and got up, flapping his bathrobe around his ankles with his hands tucked into the pockets. John had long since associated that motion with a slight nervousness on Sherlock’s behalf, which was rare, and could result in something entertaining or awful (like the exploding microwave last time).

 

“Like I’ve said. We will be entertaining guests today at exactly six this evening, because both are ex-military men and are highly punctual, much like you, John. We’ll enjoy dinner in the flat, have some light conversations that I will most likely ruin with a blunt breach of personal privacy with some insensitive statement that you will reprimand me for, but after that it will be as though the ice has broken and we will continue to have a pleasant and understanding evening. Oh, they’ll probably bring wine and some appetizer to dine on— expect something vintage with good taste.”

 

“What,” John said, blinking slowly.

 

“Six in the evening, John!” Sherlock called as he waltzed out of the living room, making a beeline for the bathroom. “Don’t wear that heinous brown pullover!”

 

“Oh shut up, it’s a dark maroon,” John shouted back, and watches the bathroom door slam shut. He scratched his head, and glanced at the doorway of their flat, listless ideas chasing after one another in his head. A guest? And one that Sherlock was a little nervous about? It wouldn’t be his parents, would it? Definitely not Mycroft— he dropped by unannounced all the time. Would it be Irene? John shuddered a little. No, please not Irene; the flat would not be able to contain all of her wit and dazzling seductive charm.

 

Well, whoever it will be, it probably won’t be as bad as the guy with the ashes. John glanced around the apartment and took in the piles of research books stacked up in little towers on the ground, the half-finished chess game between Sherlock and Mycroft that had been going on for three weeks already, the Operation game that had been sentenced to a ‘time-out’ under the sofa by both Holmes brothers, and the web of red yarn tacked up on the bulletin board amongst newspaper clippings, pictures and maps also pinned on the cork. He sighed.

 

Cleaning will commence soon enough, but first: coffee.

 

+

 

The doorbell rang at exactly six that evening, not a second earlier or later, and John was staring at the door with a pensive expression when Sherlock left the pan of vegetable stir-fry to the care of Mrs. Hudson (whom they’d recruited to help cook dinner).

 

“What are you waiting for?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Just thinking about who exactly you’d invited,” John admitted. “Where’d you say they were from again?”

 

“I didn’t. I met them in Russia. Back when I was ‘dead’.”

 

“Helpful. Are they assassins?”

 

“Oh, just get the door, John, I promise you’ll like them.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” John muttered, and yanked the front door open.

 

First impressions were always important, and in John’s case, all he could see for about half a second were two broad chests that took up the entire doorway, then even broader shoulders, then two tall men, and—

 

“Good evening,” Steve Rogers said, smiling at the two of them. “I hope we’re not too early?”

 

“You know you’re on time,” the man by his side said with a casual eye roll, and even though his hair is much longer than the pictures John had seen in him and his left arm is a metal prosthetic, there was no mistaking Bucky, the Steve’s right hand back in the day.

 

“Um,” John managed eloquently, because weirdoes and faceless assassins he was prepared for, but Captain America and the Winter Soldier he was not.

 

“You’re in the way, John, invite them in,” Sherlock pitched in helpfully, and John felt his face redden slightly as he stepped back with a hasty, “Come in! Sorry about that,” and accepted the handshake and wine Steve offered to him (vintage, like Sherlock had predicted, and a name John couldn’t pronounce).

 

“Lovely place,” Steve said, grinning as he took in the hastily straightened living room, the well-worn cushion and sofa, and the bullet-ridden smiley face on the wall that John had long abandoned his attempts of scrubbing off. “It reminds me of my old apartment— small but homely.”

 

“It’s usually much messier thanks to my packrat of a boyfriend, but you’re very kind,” John replied, and somewhere in the depths of his mind, the part that wasn’t racing a thousand miles per hour, managed to think _holy shit, I’m talking to THE Captain America and the Winter Soldier is handing a box of deluxe marshmallow peeps to Sherlock_.

 

Steve laughed and clapped John heartily on the back as Sherlock wandered over, unwrapping the box and munching on the peeps already.

 

“I’m sure you know who these men are by sight, but I suppose I’ll introduce them to you, seeing as I organized this dinner,” Sherlock said between chews, and gestured towards Steve and Bucky. “This is Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, and Bucky Barnes, the Weiner— I mean, Winter Soldier. I met Bucky in Russia and Mycroft has contacts with SHEILD. Everybody, this is my boyfriend John Watson, former army doctor and now a novice blogger and hilarious poet.”

 

“Very funny, Holmes,” Bucky said blandly, stealing a peeps for himself.

 

“You run a blog?” Steve asked, brightening. “I’ve been keeping one myself! It’s like a journal, but without the worry of running out of paper.”

 

“It is a nice hobby,” John agreed. “I mostly write about the cases Sherlock solves, but I assure you, Mr. Rogers, I am far from a _novice blogger_ , and the only thing that’s really hilarious here is that I happen to have a higher follower count than Sherlock’s blog does.”

 

Sherlock made a face and bit off another peep’s head, and Steve laughed until Mrs. Hudson appeared at the doorway of the kitchen, calling, “Sherlock Holmes! The garlic bread is _burning_ , Mister I-can-handle-it! I don’t know what kind of culinary skills you claim to have but I’m not very convinced!”

 

“Nonsense,” Sherlock muttered, shoving the box of peeps into John’s arm and sidestepped the coffee table. “Any idiot can make garlic bread.”

 

“Clearly not you!”

 

“I can help,” Steve offered, but Mrs. Hudson immediately stopped him, ranting on about how guests should take it easy and relax, and what a handsome young man Steve and Bucky were, would they like a cup of tea? John watched Steve shake Mrs. Hudson’s hand warmly and compliment her handmade apron, Bucky take Mrs. Hudson’s hand in turn and kissing the back of it, and while she blushed and giggled there was a _bang_ and the shrill sound of the smoke alarm as Sherlock swiftly walked out the kitchen, holding the pan of flaming garlic bread with a pair of tongs and flinging them out of the open window (much to Bucky’s undisguised amusement).

 

 _This isn’t so bad,_ John thought to himself, and then grinned and popped another peep into his mouth.

 

Now how can he casually ask them to sign his collector’s Cap and Bucky cards?

 

+

 

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> And Lestrade was green with envy when John showed him his cards on their next case.
> 
> I hope you guys liked this! Thank you for reading!
> 
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧


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